


you challenged the gods (and lost)

by Lise



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arguing, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Collection, Dysfunctional Family, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Sad, finwean family disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Silmarillion ficlets written for various prompts, focused as a rule around the Fëanorians, especially Celegorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At the recommendation of folks on tumblr, I am crossposting some short pieces from there to here to make them easier for everyone to find. This one is not a direct response to a prompt but rather just a response to me thinking about my favorite Kinslaying (i.e. Doriath) and wanting to write a little bit about Amras and his relationship with Caranthir. Since I write about the other two Cs so much, it seemed like he should get a turn too. 
> 
> I am following the version of the ship-burning from the Shibboleth of Fëanor, in which Amrod dies at Losgar onboard the ships. Quenya names are Moryo = Caranthir and Pityo = Amras.

Pityafinwë limped through the maze hallways of Menegroth, his breathing loud and harsh amid the silence of the dead. It was done. Probably, he thought, he should feel more than dispassionate disinterest for all this bloodshed. He couldn’t make himself, though. Maybe no longer had the ability to feel such at all.

In his heart, he already knew what he would find. If Moryo lived…

He had just enough heart left to feel dispair.

“Carnistir!” He bellowed. No answer came. “Moryofinwë!”

Moryo  had found him before the fighting started, clasped his shoulder and drawn him into a rough embrace. “Good fighting, little brother,” he’d said. “Be careful out there. If you get yourself gutted by some Sinda bastard, I’ll haul you out of Mandos to kill you myself.”

Pityo had flashed him a grim smile. “It won’t be me getting gutted.”

The answering smile had been feral and just a little bit vicious; Carnistir’s smile. “Glad to hear it.”

“Moryo!” Pityafinwë yelled again, louder. “Move your ass!”

Still no answer. Carnistir had argued against this invasion, he remembered. Said that they needed to focus on the real Enemy to the north. “Beren’s spawn can wait,” he’d said. Pityo had spoken for it. And here they were, and his older brother…

The sweep of his eyes caught on a chance cleam of familiar armor. Pityo broke into a run, leaped over the bodies in his path, and crashed to his knees beside Moryo’s corpse. He lay as he must have fallen, crumpled, still grasping his sword. Fighting to the last. Of course. And dead. For some time now; with those staring eyes he could be nothing else.

Pityo sank back on his heels, shoulders slumping forward. He wasn’t surprised. He’d known. Still, knowing hadn’t been the same as seeing. He reached out, mechanically, to close his brother’s eyes, but his fingers wavered halfway there, and his hand dropped.

He did not think of those first few terrible nights after the beaches, when he had been a raw and freshly severed limb and it was Moryo who had held him and comforted him and not looked away in shame or fear. Did not think of fighting shoulder to shoulder, Carnistir’s  laugh of joyful bloodlust in his ears. Did not think of nights spent dicing in the quiet between battles, did not-

No tears stung his eyes. He just felt empty, drained of everything he’d had left. What was it _for_ , in the end, what did it  _matter,_ what good was it to  _mourn_ when it would change nothing at all? Moryo’s skin was touched with grey, eyes slightly glazed.

Pityo made himself reach out and close those staring eyes. Tyelko and Kurvo dead as well. And nothing…

“Pityo – oh.” He didn’t turn or lift his head at Makalaurë’s voice. Wondered how his own gaze would look, how staring, how much like Moryo’s dead eyes. “Oh…Eru.” Maglor’s voice cracked. Pityo held in a sudden desire to laugh.

_Eru’s not looking at us, brother,_ he remembered Carnistir saying once.  _No help there. As well ask the Valar._

“That’s it then,” Pityo said, and his voice sounded strange in his own ears. “That’s all of us… He was dead when I got here.”  _And died alone. Alone and fighting and how can this happen, tell me_ how-

He stood. “Help me bring him out of here,” he said, without turning to look at Kano.

_What’s there left for you?_ The thought, curling poisonous at the back of his mind.  _What’s left?_

His heart had been burned out of his chest that night at Losgar. Carnistir had given him a new one and helped it to beat, however staggering, however weak. And now that was gone as well, and he was a sword and a spirit and a gaping, empty chest full of nothing.

_That’s it, then._

“Pityo,” Maglor said, and stopped. He looked lost, helpless, his face drawn. He felt something at that, maybe – an echo of what he should, like the memory more than the feeling itself.

He reached out, folded Caranthir’s sword arm over his chest. “I know,” he said, dully. “Let’s just…take care of the body.”

He could live without a heart. At least a while longer. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [ameliarating](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who prompted "quiet me, celegorm and finrod, finrod being the one lashing out/getting hysterical because I never see that and I have a thing for Celegorm sometimes being the good older cousin. Whatever age works."

There were only so many vaguely snide comments, Findaráto thought, that one could be expected to take about one’s family before it became too much. Fuming out in the gardens, he still wished he hadn’t said anything. He didn’t  _like_ being angry, didn’t like the way it made his stomach churn and his chest almost ache, but not liking it didn’t make the feeling go away.

He stared at one of the fountains in the middle of a small pond, jaw clenched, and tried to take calming breaths, but all he could think of were the things he wished he had said to his insufferable, bigoted, prideful-

Quiet footsteps rustled the grass behind him and Findaráto whirled around, half expecting it to be his father come to scold him for his outburst, or perhaps Artanis. It was neither. 

"What do you want," he snapped. Tyelkormo held up his hands almost defensively. 

"I just needed some fresh air," he said. "Formal dinners get a little stuffy for me." 

Findaráto turned his back squarely, not caring if the gesture was rude. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

"Curvo says the same thing," Tyelkormo said, sounding rueful. Findaráto pressed his lips together, not appreciating even the sideways comparison. 

"He would," he said, finally, his voice tight. He heard Tyelkormo sigh, and then he strode over and sat on the edge of the pond to Findaráto’s right and began unlacing his boots. Finrod wanted to simply tell him to leave, but couldn’t quite forget his manners enough to do it. He turned to go instead, not wanting to be around any of his cousins right now, and especially not one of Fëanáro’s sons. 

"I’m sorry," Tyelkormo said, suddenly, and Findaráto stopped and turned back. 

"What?" 

"About…" Tyelkormo made a vague gesture, looking out at the pond rather than at him. "You know. It’s not even really about you." 

"And that makes it better," Findaráto snapped, anger flaring again. Tyelkormo stopped tugging off his boots and sat up, looking over his shoulder. 

"No, I know, but…" His older cousin pulled a face, and one of his shoulders rose and fell. Findaráto crossed his arms, his mouth set in a line, irritation welling up again. 

"If you’re supposed to be a diplomatic ambassador-"

Tyelkormo snorted loudly. “Diplomatic - no one’s stupid enough to think I’d be any good at that. You and Curvo; everything’s got an ulterior motive.” He looked at Findaráto sidelong, out of the corner of his eye. “I came out here because you looked pretty upset and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

"I’m fine," Findaráto said flatly. Tyelkormo gave him a Look. 

"Uh huh." He leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky. "If you thought it would help, you could pretend I’m my Atar and yell at me."

Findaráto blinked, stared at his cousin, and then deflated, the anger ebbing away and just leaving a sort of hollow feeling in his stomach. "I don’t think it would help."

"It was worth a try." Tyelkormo turned his head and gave him a smile, a little sheepish, and Findaráto had to smile back, if reluctantly. “I could do a pretty good imitation.” 

Findaráto tried to picture that, and laughed a little weakly. “I don’t know if I believe that.” He walked back to the pond and sat down next to him, after a moment. 

"Suit yourself." Tyelkormo gave him one of those sideways looks again, his expression open and earnest. "Feel better?" 

"Yes," Findaráto admitted after a moment. “Somewhat.” Tyelko beamed, the expression infectious. 

"All this time," he said expansively, "and I’m still the best babysitter, see?" 

"I  _will_ push you in the pond,” Findaráto said, but without much real exasperation but Tyelkormo just grinned wider. Sometimes, he supposed…sometimes, his cousins were all right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt asking for Celegorm + someone else, lalochezia (the use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain).

Celegorm had not spoken for almost half the night, sitting awake with his knees folded to his chest and chin propped on them as though he were a child, folded into himself like something had collapsed inside him. Curufin was not certain what he was supposed to say. His throat still ached and a dull anger still burned deep in his chest, but Celegorm’s silence was worrying too. He had ignored the warning signs of Celebrimbor’s doubt and see where that had led.

"Tyelko," he tried, and exhaled through his nose. "Brother…"

The fire between them crackled, sending sparks up into the air with a pop. Celegorm did not move. 

"You should not mope about like this," Curufin said, shifting uneasily. "What good does it do? We need to think about what to do next." 

"That’s always what it is with you," Celegorm said, his voice barely audible. Curufin narrowed his eyes. " _What are we going to do next._ Don’t you ever stop?”

"Why would I," Curufin asked. Something in his brother’s voice made him vaguely uneasy. "There is much to be done."

Celegorm let out a kind of huffing noise, not quite loud enough to be called a laugh. “You said the same thing after Alqualonde. After the ships burned. After Findarato died.”

"What is your point, Tyelkormo?" Curufin heard the sharp note in his own voice, and tried to moderate it. "I know you are distraught-"

"Distraught!" Celegorm barked a laugh, this time. "You would put it that way." 

"Is there another way that I should?" Curufin knew he should be trying to keep his brother calm, but his throat hurt and there were bruises down his back and if it were not for that stupid  _beast-_ "You are not the only one who has lost!"

"Perhaps I would believe that if you  _cared_ for what you’ve lost!” Celegorm’s voice rose, his head coming up. Curufin recoiled. 

"You think I do not-"

"Have you ever cared for  _anything_ in your life?” Celegorm demanded, unfolding from his childish pose and rising to his feet. “But our father? Other than him, has anyone ever mattered to you? Do  _I?_ ”

Curufin stood up jerkily as well. “You are being irrational,” he said, clipped. “You should not speak to me like this.”

"Are  _you_ my father, to command me thus? You forget who is elder here!” 

"I might treat you like my elder if you would act it," Curufin snapped. "But when you go to pieces over a  _hound -_ what am I to think? You may have been fond of the beast but he was only a  _beast!_ ”

"Only-" Celegorm’s face flushed bright red. "Huan was a better brother than you ever were! At least I believed he would  _grieve_ if I died - not like you, you would probably just shrug and ask what should be done next to best serve your father’s memory!” 

Curufin felt his fists clench. “Do  _not_ speak to me of grief,” he said, voice taut and barely controlled. Celegorm sneered. 

"Why? Does it make you uncomfortable that I am not being pliant and submissive enough for you? Sometimes I wonder if you do not think that  _I_ am a beast for you to order about as you please!”

"You are my brother!" Curufin shouted, and his voice broke. "My son has forsaken me and, yes,  _our_ father is dead. Will you make me lose you as well?”

Celegorm stared at him, his jaw clenched and his hands opening and closing at his sides.  _Did you love that hound more than me,_ Curufin thought bitterly, but said nothing. Always Celegorm was the one to back down. Always. He would not give way this time, not yet. 

Celegorm turned, suddenly, and stalked away from the fire. “Where are you going,” Curufin demanded, sudden fear leaping into his throat. 

"Not far, Curvo," Celegorm said, his voice flat. "Never fear. I won’t break your leash."

"Tyelko," Curufin said. Celegorm’s shoulders rose and then drooped. 

"You don’t understand," he said, and the anger had gone out of his voice, leaving only a kind of bleak sadness. "You’ve never understood. He was the best part of me, and now he’s gone."

Curufin swallowed hard. “I am sorry,” he said. 

"You’re not, really," Celegorm said, and then sighed. "But that’s all right. You’re my brother, Curvo. I won’t leave you."

Curufin wished getting that answer didn’t seem so bitter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [crocordile](http://crocordile.tumblr.com) for a prompt for Curufin having a fight with someone.

It was the worst argument they’d ever had. 

Most tended to think that they never fought. That wasn’t true; both of them just preferred to have their disagreements away from other eyes. They’d both been testy, of late, Celegorm snappish and even himself…

(Troubling, how his temper seemed to slip his control more easily these days.)

It was Findarato, of course. Everything could be traced back to Findarato and his damned pet human, to the choice he’d had to make (and would make again). They could not appear divided now, when murmurs began in Nargothrond. 

Celegorm’s voice carried, though, and it would be obvious to anyone with eyes how they avoided each other. 

Perhaps he ought to make the first move. Some gesture of apology. Both of them had not been kind. It grated, though - that anyone knew how to find those few vulnerable places he had left. That Celegorm would use that against him. 

He had had enough of betrayal, and a bellyful of disappointment. 

Curufin glanced up at a knock on his door. A moment later Celegorm poked his head in, his expression sheepish, unhappy. There was no dog with him, Curufin noticed. More often than not it seemed that way, lately, and if Curufin wasn’t fond of the animal…

“I’m not mad at you,” his brother said, by way of apology. Curufin rubbed his temples. 

“I know.” 

Celegorm took a few more steps into the room and flopped into a chair. “What are we going to do?”

So easily left behind, for his brother. So quickly dismissed. He could push it further, of course, could ( _maybe we were wrong, did you think of that? maybe we should have helped him)_ demand some kind of recompense. Celegorm would give it. 

He didn’t want them to be fighting now. All his careful planning and he could see the seams starting to break, and he needed one thing solid, one constant.

“I’ll think of something, Tyelko,” he lied. “Soon.”


End file.
